


Contact

by X_Kartoffel_X



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, FFVII, Final Fantasy VII, ShinRa - Fandom, Turks - Fandom
Genre: FF7 - Freeform, M/M, Pre-ship, final fantasy 7 - Freeform, new years fic, reno/rude - Freeform, rude/reno - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:29:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/X_Kartoffel_X/pseuds/X_Kartoffel_X
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rude waits patiently; nothing prying, no expectancy. Tiredness has descended over them both, and there is not fight in him to demand a response of Reno.</p><p>“Fuck, this is way heavier than I meant it to be – why do you get so serious when it's just us drinkin' lately? Where's the asshole who leaves thumb-tacks on my fuckin chair when I go get my coffee?”</p><p>“Stuck in a bathroom somewhere, trying to scratch his number out of the wall where some dumbass scribbled it under sex-line adverts for 'a spiffy shining bald time'.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contact

**Author's Note:**

> A fic to bring in the New Year, with an age-old fandom.  
> I've fallen back into my thirteen year old OTP a decade later, and no I don't need help.

It's around ten thirty when the buzzer on the intercom sounds; interrupting his quiet reprieve.

 

He hadn't precisely intended to spend his night alone; not on New Years, of all days - and yet... well, it couldn't be helped. Reno had been insistent that he attend the ShinRa annual staff party as they tried to do every year (work activities permitting, of course), but something about ruining other people's evenings with the mere presence - even there mere suggestion of attendance - of members of the Department of Administrative Research at any social function, eventually went sour. Despite the booze they could siphon from the open bars, or the food they could steal from the buffet tables (whether this was eaten, or flicked into Heideggar's beard), despite even the somewhat hilarious expressions of dismay that filled the day-to-day ShinRa employees faces as any one of them came walking through the elevator doors... somehow, this year, it didn't seem worth it.

 

Last year had been easier; they had been working a job, and New Years celebrations had consisted of lukewarm coffee from a thermos,grumbled complaints about the cold from Reno and harsh reprimands from Tseng, and eventually a clean head-shot from 200 meters, at 3 am. They had missed the best of the party, by the time they got back; 4:30 am, with aching limbs from holding stiff positions, and heavy eyelids from their long vigil. He and Reno had simply opted to go home. When they returned, they stopped by at a dim 24 hour diner, drank weak coffees that left a bitter tang on their taste-buds, and then went their separate ways. 

 

It had been a good distraction. A window out.

 

Something to keep him from dwelling on the events of the year before.

 

_Chestnut hair ghosts through the wind, gently tucked behind one pierced ear._

 

He takes a long, tired gulp of his whiskey; glass raised to his lips as he stands and proceeds towards the intercom system on the wall by the hallway door.

 

_She smiles at him._

 

He figures it's a neighbour; it certainly wouldn’t be the first time one had been idiotic enough to hit his buzzer by accident. Usually, such a mistake is due to the fact that they're stone-cold drunk, or overtired, and it's just a matter of hitting his end of the buzzer and informing them of their error. They all know him, by apartment number, if not by sound of voice (not like he talks enough for them to ever know, Reno would probably say), so the moment they realised to whom they were speaking, they were quick to sober up and retreat. He hopes tonight will be the same - he's in no mood for dealing with drunken idiots, and certainly in no mood for company.

 

The same hand holding his glass slowly prods the intercom button, answering the incessant buzzer, and bringing up the camera feed from the main complex doorway; glancing towards the screen, he expects to see an unfamiliar face there. One he observes every day, and doesn't commit to memory-

 

"Heeey, Partner!" The eye pressed up close to the camera lens, so close the focus is blurred (or perhaps that's the effect of body-warm breath against the lens), is one he knows all too well; heavy lidded and bright. The voice is slow, drawling - a little slurred as well, insinuating that the owner is drunk, or tipsy at the least. "You gonna let me in, or have I gotta stay out here freezin my ass off, yo?"

 

Rude doesn't offer a greeting of his own. releases a quiet sigh instead, and softly holds down the button for the speaker - ice clinking against the sides of his glass at the motion. "Thought you were at the party?"

 

"An' now I'm here. Come _on_ , it's cold out 'n that weird cat's lurkin' around." His tone is whiny, full of complaint, and Rude has to admit he's in no mood for it – too withdrawn. Too tired.

 

Too focussed on things that he should, he knows, have pushed aside – with all other personal affairs gone wrong – by now.

 

"Go back to the party, Reno." He glances at the screen, as Reno in turn glances around himself - pulling back just far enough that his cold-reddened features come into full view.

 

"'s boring. An' I'm freezin." Rude has to admit, that Reno _looks_ freezing; now that he's pulled back from the camera, and the lens has cleared once more, the other Turk can see his breath ghosting out like smoke with every exhalation, can see the wind-burn on his cheeks, and - much to his annoyance, because he _knows_ he wont be able to turn the redhead away once he accepts what he's seeing - he can quite clearly make out the frost forming on his hair, and jacket.

 

The next press of the intercom is perhaps more aggressive than he intends, and later he'll blame that on the whiskey, and not on any sense of concern he might be feeling. "How long have you been outside?"

 

"Walked from Headquarters - an' I stopped off some places - but I forgot your apartment number so I was out here buggin' your neighbours for a while, yo, can you believe that?" He laughs, a breathy sound, but he's not looking into the lense; instead, his aquamarine eyes watch the soft puffs of smokey air escaping his own lips. Rude feels his brows twitch. He doesn't want to cave - doesn't want to give in because he  _doesn't want_  company, and Reno... Reno... 

 

_Low-lidded eyes and a hand outstretched towards him; a dim light amongst the dark._

 

"Come on, Partner, cut me some slack, yo - I brought good booze, and bad food - your favourite, right?" Rude tells himself, internally, as he presses the buzzer on the intercom to release the security lock on the lobby doors that it is of course, the food and the alcohol that won his partner that small victory... certainly, it wasn't that crooked, hopeful smile he witnessed on the screen, made all the more pitiable by frost-bitten locks, and chattering teeth.

 

The remnants of his drink disappear down his throat and his glass is placed next to the sink in the adjacent room's kitchen as he waits in quiet reservation for the inevitable knock at his door. It won't be long, he knows - Reno always takes the elevator, and the damn thing moves like it's being chased by a demon. Sounds like it, too; juddering and clanking in a way that is almost deafening, and probably worth reporting to maintenance. Rude always opted for the stairs, given the choice - never a fan of confined spaces that he couldn't control; Reno always argued that he didn't care either way, if his job wasn't the thing that killed him, it surely wasn't going to be an elevator. That would be too easy. Too funny, he said.

 

The world didn't have a sense of humour, in his opinion.

 

Rude thinks, briefly, of pearly pink nails folding a napkin with a delicacy he hadn't known existed.

 

_"This is my number. Please... please call, it would be lovely... if we could do this again."_

 

He thinks of weeks of not-quite comfortable smiles, and touches that didn't linger as they once did; a playfulness dulled by something thought to be a mistake.

 

“ _Maybe... it'll be easier if we just act like nothing happened, right?”_

 

He figures his partner is probably right.

 

"Yooo, partner, open up." The redhead outside his door doesn't bother knocking; just yells through as if he thinks that that is some kind of viable way to announce himself, and Rude - for what it's worth - takes the deepest breath that he can manage, before he turns to reach for the handle - pausing for a moment to gather himself. He isn't exactly an introvert, but this time of year... this season, he was no longer much of one for company. Obviously, the delay is not appreciated. "Yo, come on - the food'll get cold, and I'll turn into a fuckin' ice cube."

 

"Coming." He says it as he pulls open the door, which is probably redundant, but Reno's grin is forgiveness enough for his error. He slouches in the doorway, bold as brass against the pristine creams and whites of the corridor around him. A bag hanging off both arms; one obviously filled to the brim with bottles, which chime together as he shifts his hips. The other is obviously laden with the food he had promised. Rude can smell the contents already - spicy and earthy.

 

"Yo."

 

"You look rough." It isn't a lie - Reno's cheeks are cold and wind reddened, and his hair is dusted with a layer of frost and snow, drooping from the damp that has seeped through to his very skin. His jacket is stiff with a layer of frost, too; cracking when he shrugs, with a snickering laugh. The larger of the two has to wonder just how long the idiot was actually outside for, to get into such a state - though he knows it's not worth asking; the response, predictably, will be a false story about delays here, sidetracks there, and he'll only come out of the conversation more frustrated than before he bothered asking. Instead, Rude inclines his head, stepping aside as Reno comes sauntering into his apartment. He dodges past him with a grin and barely even slows, when Rude's hand catches the collar of his jacket, tugging. Reno only momentarily pauses in his step, to shift a bag from one hand to the other, then back again, as he allows his jacket to be swept off his body, slipping down over his shirt until it rests, empty, in Rude's hands.

 

People often joked that the pair of them were terrifyingly in-sync.

 

As Rude shakes out the frost from Reno's uniform, drops it onto the hallway radiator, turning to the coat closet behind, to grab the towel off one of the hooks inside the door and head into the open space of his apartment, he thinks perhaps they're right to do so.

 

He finds the redhead already shuffling through his cupboards and drawers, hunting down plates, cutlery and glasses as if he owns the place - which he practically does, of late. "Yo, you moved everythin'," He hasn't, the other Turk is simply, as usual, rooting in the cupboard one-too-far-along, and will probably realise his error in a moment, and cover it with a sheepish laugh and the excuse of his tipsy state; so Rude doesn't bother correcting him - only dumps the towel in his hands down onto fiery locks, and half mumbles a suggestion that his partner dry off before he makes himself ill. "Not like I ever get colds, partner," is the reply he receives, but as he leans back against the counter, he can see Reno reach up a hand and slowly start drying off his hair, as he finally deigns to check the other cupboard.

 

Rude ignores his embarrassed mumbling of excuses in favour of his own concerns. "Why aren't you at the party, Reno?"

 

"I said, 's boring. Scarlet got there before we did an' her cleavage already scared them all more than anyone else could've." From the tone of his voice, Rude knows that he is pulling a face; knows exactly which one, too, though his face is obscured by the towel still dumped over his head. His nose will be a little scrunched, his lips downturned into a frown - eyes narrowed as if glaring at something that's not even there. "Barely even got a kick outta stealin' the drinks."

 

He would comment that it's quite unusual for Reno not to get enjoyment out of ruining other peoples fun, but the point seems moot. "Weren't Rod and the others with you?"

 

"Yeah." He doesn't miss the awkward pause before the redhead answers; a pause covered by him standing to lay out some plates and glasses on the counter-top. Ceramic clatters against marble, and glass chimes as it is set down, one glass jostling against the other in Reno's lack of care. 

 

"And?"

 

"And what, yo? It was boring, like I said." He shuffles through the take-out bags as he speaks, muffling his own voice with the sounds of rustling paper and plastic. It's not a valid excuse, at all, and Rude doesn't much like the way that the other Turk's shoulders have set into a taught, stiff line - nor the way he busies himself with dishing out take-out containers, and lining up bottles of alcohol before himself. Usually he would be glancing back at his partner to smirk, or wink, or just generally being a bother.

 

"Reno-"

 

"Shit, yo, it's nothing - party sucked, so I thought I'd come here. Get off my back, and get drinkin' some booze, will ya?" He gestures the take-out, as he glances back at his partner with a half-hearted frown. Only succeeding in catching Rude's eye for the briefest of moments, he shrugs his shoulders, busying himself again with pouring what looks like gin into the tumblers before him. "Got some spicy thing that's supposed to be popular in Junon. That's where you're from, right?"

 

He says it offhandedly, but Rude knows it is anything but. "You remembered that?"

 

"Just when I was passin' it, yo... it smelled good, and I was gonna get it anyway, then... well I remembered an'... yo, it just..." The bottle hits the marble counter top with more force than is probably intended, and Rude isn't entirely sure that Reno didn't actually lose his grip on it for just a moment. From where he leans against the wall-mounted counter behind the redhead, Rude observes the awkward flutter of muscle beneath the cotton of his shirt; twitches,  _tells._ Not a lot of people pick them up, on Reno - he's good at hiding them - even better at distracting your attention so you don't even consider that they might exist.

 

A pro, some would argue.

 

But Rude's known him long enough by now to know the tell-tale flicker of a shoulder muscle, or the tightening of the contours of his neck...

 

"Something happen at the party?"

 

"No way." He's always been good at hitting his mark; eyes following the sinewy lines of Reno's collarbones as he leans back in what must be a horribly uncomfortable motion, to pass him a glass of gin - undiluted... typical. He busies himself again with grabbing at plates, balancing them both in one hand as he picks up his tumbler and gestures towards the couch. "Let's just eat some shitty  food, watch some shitty TV, and drink some damn good booze, okay Partner?"

 

The taught line of Reno's throat reminds him of that night two years before.

 

_The drone of an old reactor, the clatter of a train slowing on a track._

 

It's that same hopeful, sardonic smile that was offered with a hand they both pretended wasn't trembling.

 

Rude swallows back age-old recollections, and smiles instead. "I'm pickin' what we watch."

 

* * *

 

The TV blaring in the background is an oddly comforting presence, though Rude is scarcely paying it any mind,. The food is a welcome accompaniment to the alcohol swirling in his stomach, and he wishes to enjoy it before it gets cold. Reno on the other hand, is talking animatedly, about nothing and everything; his own carton of take-out barely touched – contents prodded with a fork three times, at most – now practically forgotten. He still occasionally sneaks his fingers, fork abandoned, into Rude's meal to thrift pieces of meat or strings of vegetables, but this is only an act of habit and not of hunger; one he keeps up because he _knows_ how much it bothers Rude to have people prodding at his food. And that's the thing; the food isn’t bad – not at all – Rude recalls the tastes from his adolescence; spices and sauces he had loathed at first, so different from the simple flavours he had been used to from his childhood. Another stark reminder of how different life had become since his father had pried his fingers free of the garden fence with a firm, unyielding hand and pulled him from all he had ever known... But now it is a comfort – simple and sweet. Reno hums appreciatively around his stolen mouthfuls, seemingly enjoying it, too – and Rude is glad of that – feels the corners of his mouth quirk upwards as he hears the little noises of enjoyment the redhead is emitting. Too content even to care that Reno's got his feet up on his brand new coffee table, and his ankle keeps jarring his too-full glass of whiskey and sending droplets skittering across the pristine glass surface.

 

“I mean, shit like this is all Shinra propaganda anyhow, right? I heard in Wutai they don’t even celebrate New Years until like... I dunno, a month from now?” The redhead seems at ease, limbs shifting until they splay out across the sofa and in turn, Rude's lap – as he talks. “s'all just to maintain a set order –  _their_  set order, yo.”

 

“Heard it was a cultural thing.” Rude likes to watch Reno talk, and think; his expressional shifts, the way his arms flail about... all of it, he finds enthralling. He himself had always been more reserved – no big movements, no over the top gestures. Move how you need to, when you need to – that was what he had always been told. In contrast, well... Reno expended unnecessary energy just making a show out of everything. His nose scrunches as he frowns, and he bats Rude on the shoulder pointlessly. It doesn't hurt, though the he doubts it is meant to.

 

“Says who?”

 

“Tseng.” Rude flicks a chilli at him, in quiet retaliation.

 

“Oh.” Reno, catching it with his mouth, chews thoughtfully.

 

“Said it was to do with Lunar movements – they count time differently, you know?” Rude takes a sip of his whiskey, glancing at his take-out container, almost empty now. Reno doesn't mask his confusion at the words.

 

“Fuckin' weird, yo.” He laughs, shaking his head.

 

It's almost the same as normal - the same as things aught to be, between them.

 

“Kinda.” Rude pauses, shifting his body to place all but his glass on the coffee table before him; Reno uses the opportunity to refill both of their glasses, legs pushing up against Rude's chest as leverage, to steady him and prevent him from falling off the sofa as he stretches over to his own glass on the table. He hardly minds, of course – Reno is thin and gangly and hardly weighs enough for him to even notice the action – it is only the foot digging uncomfortably into his rib that alerts him to the gesture, really. “Is New Years the same below plate?”

 

“Shit, yo, like hell.” Reno's tone is non-committal, as he downs half of his refilled glass in one go, but in all honesty he has never been quiet about his distaste for his previous surroundings. “No fireworks 'n shit, so it's less... nice. People  _set_ fires, though,” His nose wrinkles a little as he speaks, and Rude watches his freckles dance at the motion. “Close enough, huh? Was Junon any better?”

 

“We had sky. Had fireworks.” He isn't really sure what prompts him to continue; maybe it's the food still warm in his belly, or maybe its the alcohol in his veins. “Mideel was better.”

 

He doesn't miss the way Reno snaps to attention, at that; eyes wide and movements a little too abrupt to play is off as no big deal. “You... heh, so that's where you're from?” the redhead laughs, shrugging and trying, Rude can see, to play off his level of surprise. “Figures- you're shitty with cold weather.”

 

“Growing up around hot-springs does that to you.” Rude can't help a slight chuckle; one of his fondest memories had been of that town; he recalled how he and his mother would sneak out of the house, barefoot and carefree, before the sun had yet risen; how they would run down to the springs, her skirt pulled above her knees, his trousers rolled up as high as they could be – recalled how they would play and splash in the shallows, until the sun began to rise, and they had to hurry homebefore his father returned from his overnight shift. He grounds himself in the present with a small sip of his drink, swirling the contents of the glass. “The air was damp there. Junon was... dry, for a seaside town. Too high up. Used to mess with my chest.”

 

“Heh, bald  _and_  asthmatic. You're a real catch, Partner.” Reno nudges his rib with a cotton-clad toe, and Rude swats at his leg.

 

“Not medically asthmatic.” It was true- he never needed any treatment, just exercise enough to expand the capacity of his lungs during his adolescent development. Work-outs were something which he had gotten very easily - shadow-boxing with some local boys at a run-down training gym in his free time had been one of his only sources of entertainment, back then. One of his only means of getting out of the house.

 

“But medically bald, yo.”

 

“Better than not breathing right.”

 

“Point taken.” Reno swigs from his glass again, and tops up Rude's when he leans over to do the same to his own. “But asthma doesn't get you beat up half as much.”

 

“Coming from the scrawny ginger loud-mouth?” he quirks his brow, smirking a little despite himself, and Reno snorts.

 

“Yo, you got me, Partner.” His laugh is more like a snicker, as he sinks a little lower into the cushions; playing his toes against Rude's leg as they both sip at their drinks in quiet companionship. “You never said anything about Mideel before.”

 

“Not much to say. We left when I was young.” It isn't that he wants to avoid the conversation - that is, simply, that. Mideel was a place that held few fond memories for him, and most memories he was too young at the time to recall now, so it hardly seemed worth mentioning to anyone; should he be asked what the townsfolk were like, what the weather was like, or the colour of the sky in the evening, he couldn't have told a single soul. Should you ask him however, what colour his mother's hair shone when the sun hit it just right - the smell of her home-made stew, or the sound of her laughter - he could have told you in a heartbeat. "Mideel never really felt like home."

 

"'cuz of things with your dad?" A slightly tactless question; it hangs in the air between them for a moment, and Reno  _almost_  looks like he regrets it. It's one of the few moments around Reno that Rude finds himself wishing he had his sunglasses on; something to hide the discomfort in his eyes.

 

"Hm."

 

The feet that had been pattering restlessly against his thigh still their actions, settle completely, as the redhead beside Rude slumps a little against the arm of the couch. When the other Turk glances over, in his peripherals he can see Reno's eyes avoiding him; trained on the drink in his own hand. "Sorry."

 

He shrugs, an earnest notion. "Happens... Don't worry."

 

"Like shit it just  _'happens',_ you asshole. My dad hated the slums worse than anythin', and he didn't go 'round beatin' up his wife or kid." The drink sloshes about in his hand, as he waves his limbs over-exuberantly. Out of anger, frustration, or whatever other emotion flickers through him as he speaks, Rude can't name them all; never could - he never understood how one person could express so many different things in such a short space of seconds. Tonal changes in his voice, flashes of things across his features - there was so much to take in, that it was impossible to look away, and Rude's brown eyes were trained on the man tangled around him. "Situation ain't an excuse." Reno says it in a tone that begs no question; as if his words settled the matter. "My dad would'a died before he'd hit either of us."

 

"Guess that means our dads are different." He doesn't sound resentful when he says it - doesn't  _feel_  resentful, either. He hadn't ever blamed his father for any of it, deep down; the man had his issues, and he had, in the past, dealt with them poorly. He had lost everything he held dear to him - near enough - because of it, too. He had suffered enough. Hating, resenting something that couldn't be changed... there was no need for that.

 

_He thinks of hands tugging too hard at the front of his shirt- harsh words telling him to get a grip._

 

"I'd punch your dad if I met him." Reno utters it surely, knocking back his whiskey as if to punctuate the statement with the backwards snap of his neck, and the sloshing sounds of whiskey slipping down his throat. 

 

"I did already."

 

Whiskey sprays past Rude's features, flying through the air and splattering across the hardwood floor, and the arm of the sofa to boot. Had he not now been staring at Reno in utter confusion - at the whiskey and saliva dripping down his chin and onto his already grimy shirt - Rude would have been impressed that his own clothes and person had remained unstained. "You did what?!"

 

"I punched him. The day I left." It's a simple statement; just a fact of the matter, as he picks up one of the napkins from their take-out and chucks it at the redheads still-sodden chin. He catches it with an indignant huff, and continues to stare in disbelief as he wipes at his chin - the sofa would have to wait - vibrant eyes danced over Rude's larger frame, as Reno it seemed struggled to comprehend what he was saying. 

 

"How're you so calm about that?" He's always been like this; after Casey had died, when Rude had been reassigned... well, he hadn't understood it then, either. How Rude could stand, shoulders back and hand outstretched in a formal handshake, as his previous Partner - barely dead a week - was replaced like he was nothing. An item. An asset of the business and nothing more. But it was never the case that Rude was not sad - nor angry, or upset - the number he did on the training dummy in the gym-session that followed the meeting (an event after which the piece of equipment had to be replaced), should have been evidence enough of that... it was simply that Rude coped with it in his own way; a way that differed, entirely, from Reno's own loud, abrasive and highly vocal coping methods. No fights with strangers in bars, no drinking himself into a rage-filled stupor, no loud complaints in the office whenever the boss's back was turned... his own process was just...

 

Quiet. Almost silent.

 

Once an event was over, it was done. Bad things happened - and when they did, he would stand up and push forward, or fail. Whether it took a month, a week, a year, or more.

 

He held onto the good things, few as they might sometimes seem, and let them pull him through it all.

 

_Rose pink lips, trembling hands._

 

But even then, some things stayed with him, no matter how he tried.

 

"Have you... yo, have you spoken to him?" Reno's foot, still resting on his thigh - and a little distracting for that fact - but now its motions are slow and gentle, almost. Comforting little motions every so often.

 

"Twice, I think... Needed money a couple of years back, so called me up. And earlier this year..." Rude pauses, at that, not sure if it should be mentioned; such things veering far too close to deep, personal information that as Turks they were encouraged never to share, lest it come back to bite them in the ass - and it wasn't that he didn’t trust Reno - anything but. It was simply that it wasn't in his nature - it was the same reason why he had chosen to drink alone in his apartment that night, rather than stay out with the others. The same reason that whenever he saw a woman with long, flowing brown curls his mood would drop, playful banter would cease, and he would focus solely on the job, and excuse himself not long after. Talking was difficult.

 

Sometimes it was easier to cope alone.

 

But now Reno is prodding him with one, undemanding toe, and he swallows hard - past the insecurity and the need to hold his tongue. Focusses on the beads of water condensing along the inside of the glass held in his hand, and the feel of Reno's limbs splayed across him - moving slightly, gently, with every breath. "Asked if I was coming home any time soon. Just a visit. Haven't replied yet."

 

"Shit, yo... you gonna go see him?"

 

"Don't know."

 

"Fuck... well- hell, Partner, if you want moral support or somethin', I mean..." when he glances over, Reno appears more uncomfortable than Rude has ever seen him look before; his feet, previously warm against the other man's thigh, have retreated. Pulled towards himself as he fidgets with his glass - empty now. "Heck, I mean..." he is a little shaky, and Rude can't quite manage to catch his eye, despite his efforts. "I haven't been to Junon, an' you said the bars were good, so..."

 

It takes the words a moment to sink in, as Rude's gaze briefly captures Reno's, and then retreats to his own whiskey in turn. "You saying you'd come with...?" And even in the dim light, he can see how Reno  _pales._

 

"Not like- shit, Rude, don't make a big deal out of it, okay?" He wont look Rude in the eye at all, now; uneasy and far too interested in his glass. "I only meant like..."

 

"I know. Thanks." And he means it.

 

"Why're you so nice about it? I'm your partner, right? 's what we do..." he glances up from his glass for a brief, fleeting moment, and smiles lopsidedly - gaze darting away again so swiftly that it gives the impression that looking at Rude for any length of time is detrimental to his health. His new smile suits him more - a smirk, quirking at the edges. Eyelids lowered out of habit. "Besides, you said the bars in Junon were cool."

 

"Actually, I said they were dives."

 

"My kinda bars."

 

Rude chuckles at that, and knocks back his drink - an action Reno seems to take as a sign that it is now once again safe to splay his legs across his partner's lap once again: stretched out like a contented cat. He yawns, shaking his head as his gaze flickers to the clock on the wall. Rude's follows – not even midnight, yet it felt as though they'd been awake like this for hours. "Missed this,” the redhead states, after a few minutes of contented quiet – interrupted only by the occasional lazy sip from a crystal glass. “That party was the pits."

 

"You didn't stay long."

 

"If it starts crappy, it'll end crappy... unless  _you're_ there anyhow - so the odds weren't in the party's favour, yo." Rude hums lightly at that utterance, yawning himself and refilling his glass of whiskey, and Reno's too, when it is offered. He tries to ignore the pair of almost glowing eyes following his every move, behind low hanging eyelids and an unsure expression. "You're okay, right? Like... yo, you just weren't up for the party, not skipping cuz of..." One gangly arm gestures blindly, hanging in the air like it doesn't know what to do with itself.

 

"Yeah." Rude's lie is uttered calmly, barely an effort after two years of this. "Just wasn't up for the party." And if Reno isn't convinced; if Reno reads his mind and sees the world 'Chelsea' written in bold, stark letters, flashing across the back of Rude's eyes with every waking moment, he doesn't say a word - just shrugs, and takes a swig straight from the bottle that Rude still held in his hands until boney fingers pry it free, snuggling further into the plush cushions behind him as if intending to nap.

 

Because that's the one thing they never, ever talk about.

 

"Could have stayed at the party. You weren't missing anything." Reno's frown is, at first, his only response - and he shuffles a little as if having trouble getting comfortable. 

 

"Didn't really... wanna."

 

"Why not?" 

 

Reno shuffles a little under his gaze, swirling the contents of his glass around and watching it intently, shrugging non-committally, as if the fight is leaving him as the night draws on. The shimmer of a ShinRa tower spotlight flashes through the windows, briefly, and out of the corner of his eye, Rude spots the almost neon glimmer of Reno's eyes shining softly behind a heavy lidded gaze. He asks, just one more time; “Why didn’t you stay out with the others?” And its not accusatory, but Reno's shoulders hunch like he's being reprimanded, and he grumbles tiredly under his breath.

 

“Y'always gotta be so nosy.”

 

“If I wasn’t, wouldn’t know anything about you.” He doesn’t know what makes him say that – maybe it's the tiredness beginning to wash over him, or the whiskey in his veins, or the warmth seeping through his bones – or the shimmer of the snow outside, caught in bright artificial lights and swirling in the wind... or maybe it's just that Reno looks so  _small._  His shoulders are bony and jagged beneath a sinewy layer of muscle, which his shirt slides against as he shrugs in embarrassment at Rude's words.

 

“Maybe I... sort of...” Fidgeting is Reno's biggest tell, when he feels insecure. It doesn’t happen often, and Rude is almost certain that after six years of knowing Reno, it has only been  _him_ that has been able to garner such behaviour from the redhead... and that thought makes him oddly proud. The sort of pride that sits unspoken; nothing more than a warm, comforting feeling in the pit of his stomach. A secret held in quiet breaths mingling on a night only a few years before. “Maybe I sort of missed you, or something. Fuck, I dunno, yo. You're putting me on the spot here.” Reno's mouth tends to run when he's nervous; uneasy. There isn’t a lot that even _gets_ Reno nervous, Rude has discovered, other than honesty;  _simple honesty._  Sometimes it seems like telling the truth unsettles Reno more than lying, and the taller male would pay to see him try _not_ to lie on a detector test, just to see if his theory was true. “It's just Rod was gettin' all cosy with the waitress, and Tseng was mooning over that Ancient, and that new rookie Elena was mooning over Tseng, and Cissnei was talkin' to that guy she knows from the fifth floor and I guess I just...” He pulls his feet up onto the sofa, tucking his chin onto his knees, and poking at his socks. “Jus' kinda... felt like everyone was with the people they most wanted to, you know...”

 

Rude waits patiently; nothing prying, no expectancy. Tiredness has descended over them both, and there is not fight in him to demand a response of Reno.

 

“Fuck, this is way heavier than I meant it to be – why do you get so serious when it's just us drinkin' lately? Where's the asshole who leaves thumb-tacks on my fuckin chair when I go get my coffee?”

 

“Stuck in a bathroom somewhere, trying to scratch his number out of the wall where some dumbass scribbled it under sex-line adverts for 'a spiffy shining bald time'.”

 

“Heh,” a lazy laugh, “forgot I did that. Did you get any calls? I highly recommended you, five stars 'n everything.”

 

“The things you drew didn't look like stars, Reno.”

 

“Can't draw stars for shit.”

 

“Can't draw anything for shit.” He laughs, softly, a genuine sound that Reno scarcely tends to emit, but Rude glances at him as he leans his back against the back of the couch, warning that their previous conversation has not yet ended; and then he's all frowns and awkwardness again, and toes curling into the sofa through regulation black socks that probably don’t belong to him (because he never remembers his own, and tends to pickpocket the spares out of Rude's locker when he thinks his partner isn’t paying attention).

 

“Look, maybe I figured... if I was gonna spend my new year doing anything at all, I kinda... wanted to spend it getting drunk off my face – or maybe not even... not even drunk, I dunno - with... you.” It's probably the most he can expect Reno to voice; and it's more than he anticipated, in any case. Reno's like that, sometimes; surprising. For the most part Rude can usually call what he's thinking – tell at a glance from the set of his shoulders, or the line of his jaw – the way his fingers drum a particular tune against his desk, or his mug. The certain type of fidgeting that signals discomfort or annoyance, or amusement, or pride.

 

Today...

 

A flash of light cuts through the apartment again, briefly, and Reno's vibrant eyes and reddened cheeks stand stark in the shuttered glow; obscured only by light freckles and the awkward angle of his head. He tries to look anywhere but at Rude, who is reminded, regrettably, of shame-reddened cheeks hidden behind insistences that their actions be forgotten – their behaviour be passed off as desperation and loneliness. As a lack of any real moral compass on Reno's part; of heartbreak on Rude's part... a mistake that neither of them truly believe to be so. He is reminded of cascading chestnut brown hair and laughter like birdsong, which seemed, now, to pale in comparison to the mussed locks of dyed red, and snorted laughter through a freckled nose that he sees sat before him.

 

They've teetered dangerously along the edge of something more than friendship for so long nowthat maybe its too late for it to change.

 

Their chance came amid falling snow and empty streets; amid the screech of train brakes, and hands gripping dampened shirts, tugging at soaked-through jackets.

 

“Hey, Rude...”

 

Reno always said that second chances didn’t happen to people like them; karma had it out for them, he said.

 

“Mm.”

 

_He thinks of icy hands gripping the front of his shirt._

 

“Fireworks goin', must have hit midnight.”

 

Little ruptures of colour and light dance in dilated pupils and Rude finds he can't bring himself to look away.

 

_Teeth clashing with his own from the force of the lips pressing against his._

 

“Seems like it.”

 

“You're gonna miss out.”

 

_He thinks of sorrow and desperation, long since passed._

 

“I won't.” He sees reds, reflected there; and greens, blues, oranges, yellows... he sees it all and wouldn’t want to see it any other way – give him the grandest viewing platform in the whole of Midgar, and he would still choose this, instead.

 

Those pupils grow a little wider, and he hears Reno swallow hard; perhaps around a lump in his throat similar to the one Rude himself can feel growing, and growing...

 

_Not a mistake, but just..._

 

“H-hey... little close, partner...”

 

“Yeah.” He won't go any closer than this; can feel Reno's breaths – short, panicked inhales and exhales – tickling his features, and he dares not go any closer. For any chance at this working, Rude has always known that Reno is someone who needs to be met half-way; loathes himself too much to accept affection if it is given without effort on his part. Doesn’t believe himself worthy of it.

 

Rude thinks he is incredibly stupid.

 

Reno manages to look him in the eye briefly, at least – for about as many seconds as it takes for his cheeks to flush pink, and his body to stiffen awkwardly – before he's mumbling about feeling 'too drunk for this shit', and how how Rude 'shouldn’t look at him like that', and it's all the taller male can do to stop himself from catching the idiot by the strands of his growing ponytail and do things they had once agreed never to mention ever again.

 

He does, however, manage to catch the idiot by his wristas he stands to move away from the sofa.

 

“Fuck,  _what?”_  Vibrant bluey-green eyes dart to the exit, calculating an escape route like they would on any job.

 

“It's cold out.” Rude states it simply.

 

“Yeah, well...”

 

“Your jacket's still wet.”

 

He watches Reno's gaze dither over his sodden jacket, still dripping puddles onto the hardwood floor from its perch on the hallway radiator. The redhead swallows thickly, adam's apple bobbing. “Yeah... yeah, well...”

 

“Reno.”

 

“ _Hey, partner, I'm cold.”_

 

Snowflakes dance behind his eyes, memories of arms around his shoulders, as he stared down at rusted old tracks and wondered, aimlessly, what would happen should he just let go...

 

“Hey, partner...”

 

“ _Let's get you home.”_

 

“I'm cold.”

 

Aqua coloured eyes stare at him like he's lost his mind, and yet-

 

“...you're the one who picked the apartment with the huge-ass windows, you big lug.”

 

But then there's a soft gush of air, and the gentle thud of a body landing on soft cushions, as the sofa beside him dips, and a warm form is pressed against his side and-

 

“No... funny stuff, okay?” And maybe Reno's breath is a little shaky and unsure; held in his lungs too long.

 

“Okay.” Strange, Rude thinks, that Reno can stare down an armed attacker; burst into a room full of any number of people who could turn and shoot him at any given moment.... and this, Rude's hand slowly sliding down his arm – larger hand encasing a smaller, paler extremity – is enough to have him trembling in uncertainty. Enough to have his breath coming out a little too quickly...

 

 

“Oi...” Rude doesn't say anything in reply; the silence around them is soothing, just leans his head until it rests atop Reno's, and lets out a small, barely audible sigh. "H-hey..." It's a small protest – barely a protest at all, and as he slowly realises that Rude has no intention of doing anything more, it fades into nothingness. The fingers twitching against Rude's own cease their movements, settle and relax, and Reno's breathing settles – becomes steady, and calm. “Why're y'always...” He yawns a little, settling into the warmth of Rude's side; the bony elbow digging into his rib hardly seems to matter at all. “So weird.”

 

The snow is falling outside, casting dancing shadows across the green mako glow that filters through the shuttered blinds.

 

Rude simply shrugs, shoulders rolling against Reno's.

 

The hum of the reactor is soft, a drone in the distance.

 

Reno hums something, softly, that he doesn't quite hear, as the pair watch fireworks exploding colour into the usually monotonous skyline.

 

Minutes of silence pass between them, and Rude, eventually, huffs out a tired chuckle.

 

“Barely past midnight. We're getting old...”

 

Reno laughs, hums; the sound is not quite birdsong, not quite so refined as the gentle patter offered from rose-pink lips he once adored... but he thinks, perhaps, that's okay.

 

He thinks, blearily, that it's not a bad sound to hear, right before he falls asleep.

 

And then there is nothing but the echo of fireworks somewhere in the distance, as colour fades into black.

 

* * *

 

Daylight – barely any brighter than the twilight hours, in Midgar - a lightening to its otherwise black hue that leaves it only a murky grey – is what awakens Rude the following morning. Had his shades been on, he might have enjoyed an hour more, perhaps even two, but that was the way of things, he had been missing them for most of the night. He spies them almost as soon as his eyes adjust to the world, atop the coffee table, that he finds has been digging into his shins all night – it wouldn't be any surprise to find an ugly red groove indenting the skin beneath his slacks...

 

But his attention is quickly diverted, when something moves, shifting against his upper thigh.

 

Blinking down, his gaze meets with scarlet hair, and gangly limbs – splayed out in all directions. One of the Reno's arms is stretched across Rude's lap, fisted in the plush leather of the couch cushion beside them both; the other is twisted around and tucked behind his own back, resting on his tail bone. One bony knee is tucked up into his own chest, and Rude is sure _that_ can't possibly be comfortable – especially not when his other leg is stretched out and over the opposite arm of the chair.

 

It takes him some effort not to snort out a laugh at the sight before him, but then...

 

There's a groan, and Reno shifts, twisting his neck a little and readjusting it's position – and then Rude becomes awkwardly aware of a warm, wet patch seeping through his trousers.

 

“Reno.”

 

“Mmph.” The response, eloquent as could be expected from someone half-asleep, is not helpful.

 

“Reno, move.”

 

“'na minute...”

 

“Reno, you're drooling.”

 

“...so wha'?”

 

“On me.”

 

“Huh?” In no rush to move, Reno twists his head a little and peeks up at his partner through lashes and lowered eyelids, which might have been an attractive sight, if there wasn't drool around his mouth. And if he didn't immediately squint against the weak light invading the apartment. “Damn, what time is it?”

 

“Early. Get off.” Rude's tone is probably more playful than anything else, and Reno laughs, glancing about himself; from the leftover take-out on the table, to the empty bottles, and then to where he currently resides – eyes darting over Rude as if evaluating the situation. Rude frowns a little at the scrutiny, shaking is head when Reno, glancing down to where his head had previously rested, snorts loudly at the patch of wet fabric he left behind.

 

“Shit, yo, looks like you wet your pants,” and the snicker that punctuates his words is frustratingly endearing. “Sorry – don’t usually drool.”

 

“Yeah, you do.”

 

“Okay but not _on_ people.”

 

Rude can't argue with that, so doesn't bother; just shuffles a little in his seat so that Reno knows that he's about to get up – a warning that he should probably move, himself. It's a hint he doesn't take, groaning and stretching his arms out across Rude's lap; rearranging his legs so that they're both stretched out over the end of the sofa, until he's pretty much just laying across Rude – chin propped up on one muscular thigh. “Reno, I want to shower.”

 

“'n I wanna win a million gil, but it ain't happenin', so just stay put.” He pulls Rude's phone out of his shirt pocket, and flips it open wordlessly; begins swiping through without asking for permission.

 

“Reno-”

 

“You still got her number on here.”

 

He blanches, blinking down at the head that won't turn to look at him.

 

They don't talk about...

 

“An' your background... that’s somewhere you guys went on a date, right? Bar looks familiar.” and he's right, of course – the bar in the photo is the place he first met her; the one little bit of sentimentality he had allowed himself. He hadn't taken photos of her, or with her, but this...

 

It had seemed harmless at the time.

 

“It's... the bar I met her in.”

 

“So a picture of where you had your first date...? Heh, big softie.” Rude doesn't respond; just watches Reno's finger graze over the image, gently, as if wanting something he cannot express. “So, what, this's been your background for like two years? Yo, that's messed up.”

 

Before Rude can retaliate, Reno is up, off his lap, and half way across the apartment – phone in hand, and a smug little look in his eye. “You wan' anything for breakfast? There's that coffee shop down the street right?” And he's already half-in his now dry jacket, before Rude thinks to stand up and look at him properly.

 

“What?”

 

“Wha'? I said, you wan' anything for breakfast? I'll grab it while you're showerin'” The offer is so unlike Reno that he's not sure how to respond; but it seems as though this comes as no surprise. Within moments he's out of the door, yelling back about 'grabbin' whatever looks good' as well as a hot set of coffees for them both.

 

The apartment is oddly quiet, without him – nothing but the hum of the Mako reactor outside, to keep Rude company.

 

But by the time Rude has showered, put on clean slacks and a shirt that isn't rumpled by sleep, the TV is blazing and he walks out of the hallway to find Reno cross-legged on the sofa – mouth full of coffee and an array of small snack-foods laid out on the small table before him.“Yo, got your coffee. The good stuff – properly filtered 'n everything.”

 

He picks up the coffee cup and sits down beside Reno, thinking maybe – _maybe –_ its not so lonely any more.

 

“Phone's on the counter.” Reno mumbles an hour later, when Rude is getting up to put the empty coffee cups in the trash, and Reno himself is halfway to the bathroom; about to go spend a good half-hour or so using all of his hot water.

 

The bathroom door clicks shut as he picks the phone up off the marble surface- water running and pipes humming by the time he finds himself blinking at the screen.

 

The background is different; he swipes the lock on the screen to get a clearer look, only to find that Reno left his contacts list open, making this the first thing he sees. Where Chelsea's name once sat, bold and unforgiving, there is now something else; the number remains the same – he knows her number off by heart... but the contact name reads, instead 'Call Reno, ya dumb bastard'.

 

He cant help a quiet chuckle at that; could change it back. Could...

 

He swipes the contacts page closed, leaving it as it is, and looks instead at the new photo that graces his background.

 

It's his own apartment block – surrounded by grimy, greying snow, and the hopeless morning glow of Midgar.

 

“ _So a picture of where you had your first date...?”_

 

He listens to the sound of the shower droning on; the judder of pipes, and the patter of water, down the hall.

 

No. Not lonely at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let's bring this ship back in style, eh? My massively long headcanon-filled mess of a story for these two will be gradually uploaded, either in masses of oneshots, or in one long, painful fic. Hope you all enjoyed!


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